Bloom

March

“How’ve you been?” Harry asked. He was sat on my chair, hands clasped loosely in his lap.

“You mean since the last time we saw each other? When I was being honest with you and you had to go and be an asshole about it?” I replied sarcastically, sitting on the edge of my bed and raising my eyebrows at him. Harry just sighed. “Fabulous. Really great, thanks for asking.”

“I’m sorry about that,” he said, watching me closely like he was trying to figure out which route to take. I wondered what the choices he was considering were.

Just looking at him was difficult. I stared at my feet, then at the wall, because I knew that if I met Harry’s eyes that my chest would burst from the swell of feeling he was somehow able to cause in me.

“But you did sort of break up with me,” Harry mumbled after what felt like an eternity of silence and staring. “I reacted. Badly, yeah, but…” Then I looked at him, and it was worse than I could’ve ever imagined. His fingers tangled in his hair as he wet his lips and stared right back at me. “I’ve been broken up with before, but God, this was so much worse than that. I just…I went on autopilot, said what I would’ve if it were someone—anyone but you. But I realize now I shouldn’t have said that to you, any of it. Fuck, I was so wrong. I’m so so so sorry, Imogen. Please.”

With every word, his voice cracked a little more, his eyes burned with desperation and intensity that I didn’t quite understand, given that he was usually so good at putting on a blank expression.

“Is this you trying to fix things?” I asked, crossing and uncrossing my legs. I was starting to feel awkward under his gaze. “Because I already told you, I can’t do this.”

“Because of the attention? The fans?”

“What? No,” I frowned. “I don’t care about any of that.”

“Then why did you stop it?” Harry asked, shifting the chair closer to me. In my small room, there wasn’t much space to cover, and his knees were brushing against mine in an instant. When I didn’t answer, he leaned forward, rubbing his lips together anxiously. “I thought maybe I could do it, y’know, just let you go.”

My voice was barely above a whisper. “And?”

Harry’s eyes, which had been focused in on my hands, tightly clasped together in my lap, flicked up to meet mine. “Turns out I’m not so great at keeping things separate.”

“Oh,” was all I could muster, because I was filled with a whole new set of questions that I was even more afraid to ask. It certainly wasn’t helping that Harry kept on shifting his gaze to different parts of me, like he was trying to commit all of it to memory in case he’d never see me again.

“I came here with a proposal for you,” Harry said, sitting back in the chair. I had a little more room to breathe, but my chest didn’t feel any lighter. “I realized the mistake I made last time. I panicked and made up the same rules I had with other girls, but I shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t have tried to control what was happening.”

There was an outcome in my head, one that I’d been pushing back ever since I saw him standing outside my door, that was shouting at the top of its lungs. “What’s the proposal?” I asked, trying to keep the nervousness out of my voice.

“Well, first of all, you should know that what happened at The Red Door was all the times I’d kept my hands to myself finally coming back to bite me in the ass,” Harry said, a little bitterly. “I’ve been thinking about it all week. I was drunk, and I did something I never would’ve done otherwise, but maybe there’s something to be learned from that.”

I could hardly believe what I was hearing. “Are you saying you want to date? Publicly?”

Harry’s eyes went wide. “No! That’s…that’s not what I meant.”

Part of me was relieved. The other part was disappointed. “Then what?”

“I don’t want there to be two different Harry and Imogens anymore,” he replied. “I want to be able to put my arm around you.”

Harry could be distant, cold, and a downright jerk, but he was still better expressing himself than I was.

“Is that the proposal? You want to keep hooking up, but stop sneaking around our friends?”

After a moment, he nodded.

It was hardly even step up from what we’d been doing before. And I’d already come to the conclusion that I was not a casual relationship person. I had boyfriends, not booty calls. But because the world was just that cruel, the person I was falling in love with was the complete opposite. If I’d tried his way and failed, then the chances of the reverse being successful were slim to none.

“What does that mean for the rest of the world? They already think we’re dating, Harry. It’s only going to make it worse if we hang out.”

“So the attention does bother you,” he concluded.

“No, the assumptions about my life bother me. If we’re only hooking up and there’s girls sitting next to me on the Tube who think you’re my boyfriend, it’s just gonna mess with my head more.”

Harry sighed, raking his fingers through his hair. “I take it that’s a no then?”

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled.

“I thought this was going to work,” he said, more to himself than to me. “I don’t want to leave unless this is fixed. I can’t…it felt like it was all over, but then that article got out and I was — but it doesn’t matter, does it? You want nothing to do with me.”

Harry got up abruptly, turning toward the door. He had his hand on the doorknob, and I realized that if he went out that door then I really would lose him forever. Harry was persistent, but he wasn’t going to go where he wasn’t wanted.

“I want everything to do with you,” I blurted. I was gripping the comforter so hard that my knuckles had gone white, and my heart felt like it was going to beat right out of my chest, because I’d finally said something worth saying and instead of relief all it made me feel was more anxious.

There was a beat of silence that made me want to tear my hair out, and then Harry slowly turned around on his heels of his boots and blinked at me. He was frowning, his eyebrows pulled together, carefully taking in my tense body language and the look of apprehension on my face.

“Then why did you do it? Why did you—“

It seemed to hit him then. The realization that I wasn’t just in it for the physical attraction anymore, that the black and white had long faded into grey.

“How long?” he asked.

My shoulders were too tense to shrug. “Probably a month. Maybe two. I don’t really know.”

“You should’ve told me.”

“How was I supposed to do that? ‘Hey, Harry, you should know that I kinda like you a lot hopefully this doesn’t interfere with our friendship.’ I’m horrible at talking, you know that.”

“Why did you even agree to it in the first place, then? You told me that you didn’t want a boyfriend, Imogen.” His voice had taken on a desperate tone again.

“I didn’t. Besides, if I had said anything then you would’ve left,” I replied. “And I didn’t want you to leave. But then I realized that it was even worse only having half of you. I’d rather have nothing.”

“Didn’t?”

I rolled my eyes, my muscles loosening up a bit with the quickly growing frustration running through my veins, burning away the anxiety. “Okay, just so we’re clear: me refusing to sleep with you on a casual basis and saying that I have feelings for you means that I want an actual relationship. Sue me for wanting cuddling and morning sex and all that other stuff that’s ‘too intimate’ for you.”

Harry paced the length of the room, pulling his lip and frowning at the floor, not looking at me once. He stopped at the door, slumping forward and leaning his forehead against the wood. “I never should’ve let any of this happen.”

“Well, it isn’t entirely your fault,” I said, scooting back on the bed until I was leaning against the wall, and pulled my knees up to my chest. Harry shifted slightly so that his shoulder was slouched against the door instead of his forehead. “And, I mean, I liked you before we actually slept together, which just goes to show how awesome I am at falling for the wrong guys.”

He let out an exasperated noise and ran a hand over his face. “Why do you have to say that?”

“Hey, I’m just speaking from experience,” I said, my hands up in mock defence. “Would you rather I went back to lying to you?”

“No,” Harry said. “I just wish you’d told me the truth from the beginning.”

“Why? What difference would it have made?”

Harry stood up straight. “All the difference! I never would’ve come onto you if I’d known you fancied me.”

“What about the whole month before that? When it was all weird and confusing and we weren’t really friends or anything?”

“I was trying to figure out what you wanted,” Harry replied. “When I knew, or at least thought I did, then I came to you. You never showed any sign of actually liking me, I thought it was all going to be fine. Clearly I was wrong.”

“If you had thought I liked you back then, what would you have done instead?”

Harry hesitated. “Nothing.”

“Really? Because you seemed pretty eager to sleep with me.”

“I could’ve gotten past that,” Harry said stubbornly.

But I’d learned something in the last few days. You can’t just stop yourself from feeling something. That’s not how it works.

“What now, then? I broke up with you, and you came back. I didn’t agree to the bullshit arrangement you made up. Are you gonna disappear for a week and then show up with a brand new plan that’ll fix everything?”

“I can’t be that person for you,” Harry said, ignoring most of what I’d said. He grinned bitterly. “I am the wrong guy, aren’t I? Fucking brilliant.”

“What happened to you, Harry? What did that girl do to you to make you so fucking miserable?”

Harry blinked, momentarily breaking out of the sullen expression he’d put on. “She left.”

I had a horrible flashback to Beckett telling me again and again not to go to London. My stomach twisted into knots, and I thought that nothing on Earth could ever be worse than this.

“You need to go,” I said, scrambling off the bed. I didn’t even think about what I was doing, I just grabbed Harry’s arm and hauled him over to the door. “Now.”

“What did I say?” Harry asked, bewildered. He threw out an arm, blocking me from grasping the doorknob, and tried to meet my panicked gaze. “Imogen, what did I do?”

I realized that my hand was still clamped around his arm, right over the rose tattoo, and I jumped back. My palm was on fire. “You…you need to leave.”

“Imogen, I don’t understand,” Harry frowned.

“Please, Harry.”

“But—“

“Just go!” I exclaimed.

He stared at me for another moment, then slipped out the door and shut it gently behind him. I collapsed onto my bed and let out a muffled scream into my pillow.

Then, I heard the voices. Five of them — four female, one male. There was giggling and the distinct sound of someone taking a photo on their phone. My horror grew astronomically, and I leapt up and threw open my door.

The girls crowded around Harry lived on my floor, but I didn’t know any of them by name. They all looked around at me, barely concealed envy on their faces. Harry just looked tired. “Evening,” I said, with forced politeness. “You can all leave now.”

They exchanged looks and sauntered off, returning to their rooms. I looked at Harry without meaning to, only to find that he was already staring at me. “I’ll be going now.”

“Harry,” I said, a question popping into my mind. He looked at me, almost hopeful. “When she left, did you try and stop her?”

He frowned. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I thought it was my fault,” he said. “But she just didn’t love me anymore. I don’t think she ever did, really. I didn’t know that then, of course, so I was mad at myself for fucking it up. Then that turned into me being mad at everyone else too. I liked it. I was really good at being angry.”

The comparison didn’t seem fair then. Harry only ever made decisions when all of the variables had been determined, and if there was any clash then he changed his plan. He only came onto me after he thought I wasn’t interested in him romantically. He wasn’t a selfish person, only looking out for his own desires. He would even push them back if he had to, if what he wanted couldn’t happen.

“But you aren’t anymore?”

“I wouldn’t say angry. More frustrated.”

“Why didn’t you let go so easily with me?” I asked. “She was your girlfriend. We were just sleeping together.”

“You’re harder to let go of,” he admitted. “And it wasn’t just sex, Imogen. We were good friends, you and I.”

It was all too much then. “If I’m so hard to let go of then why won’t you just fucking date me?”

Harry wet his lips, biting down hard on the lower one. “Because of everything we’ve just been talking about. I can’t be the person you want me to be. It doesn’t matter either of us feels, I’m not—“

“What?” I interrupted. We were still standing in the hallway, and this had turned into the type of conversation that you most certainly did not have in a fucking hallway. I pulled Harry back into my room, which should have been much harder considering how tall and broad he was, and then whirled on him. “Are you being self-sacrificing again? I get it if you don’t have any romantic, whatever, feelings for me, that’s the right thing to do. But if all of these rules and agreements have been because you’re afraid of falling in love with me, then you are even more of an idiot than I thought you were.”

“That’s not it,” Harry said, stalking over to my desk and leaning against it, arms folded over his chest. “I’m worried about the reverse.”

“Oh, so you’re doing all of this for me? What about fifteen minutes ago when you wanted to keep hooking up like it was no big deal? Because guess what, Harry, that was a terrible fucking plan.”

“It’s only going to end badly, and I can’t be responsible for that,” Harry said. “The point was to remove all emotion from the situation. Being in a relationship doesn’t exactly do that, does it?”

“You can’t seriously have expected me to just go on sleeping with you without ever developing any feelings for you,” I replied, raising my eyebrows at him. “And what about you? Do you ever feel anything at all?”

He shrugged. I wanted to smack him. “I try not to.”

“Well, it doesn’t work. Trust me.”

Harry looked at me curiously. “Did you try to talk yourself out of liking me?”

“What? No,” I frowned. “I wasn't talking about you. Apparently I thought you’d be slightly less of a dickhead and either realize you liked me too, or at least have left me alone long enough for me to get over you.”

He nodded, staring at his boots. “Guess I should actually leave now.”

“Guess so.”

Harry went to the door again, for the millionth time in the last twenty minutes. Somehow, in that short amount of time, he’d torn up the fragile resistance I’d made, caused me to wonder if maybe he did feel something after all, only to crush it because he wouldn’t fucking let go of the idea that he was going to ruin me. I wanted to believe that I was stronger than that. I’d been trying and trying to feel like I was fine, that I’d fixed myself, but maybe there was no fixing. Beckett had taken up too much of me not to leave any scars, and I was going to have to start accepting that instead of trying to make it go away.

I was so busy thinking, gnawing on my bottom lip as I stared at the plush carpet under my toes, that I didn’t notice Harry, still lingering by the door.

“Fuck it,” I heard him mutter, and my brain snapped back to the present.

Then he was cupping my face in his hands and his mouth was on mine, sighing against my lips like he’d been holding this back all along. I probably should have questioned it, should have pushed him back and asked what the fuck was happening, but he tasted like peppermint gum and his fingers were curling around the back of my neck, and my body reacted before my brain kicked into gear, the way it always seemed to with Harry.

I clung to his shirt, pulling him as close as possible, my back arching toward him as Harry’s hand slid away from my neck and landed on my hips, skating over the exposed skin where my sweater had ridden up. The shiver that coursed up my spine jolted my brain into action, and I jumped back, surprising Harry enough that he didn’t even try to hold on. He did let out a throaty whine, his eyes fluttering open before he bowed his head. I couldn’t see his expression anymore, and I wondered if that was why he’d touched his chin to his chest, so I wouldn’t know what he was feeling.

My breathing was heavy. His was too. “I don’t want this to be like the other times,” I said.

Harry lifted his head, hair falling into his eyes. He didn’t even push it back, he was too busy frowning at me. “If it wasn’t, I wouldn’t have kissed you.”

The last half hour had convinced me of that.

Instead of immediately leaping at him, like I wanted to, my hands dropped to my sides and I pulled my sweater over my head, suddenly grateful that I’d put on a cute bra this morning, at least. It was a silly thing to be pleased about, and Harry probably didn’t care either way, but I couldn’t deny the warm feeling that blossomed in my chest when he blinked at me, dazed.

“Okay,” I said, and then closed the space between us.

Harry’s hand slid around my back, flat against my spine, pressing our bodies together. We’d done this a few times before, memorized each other with our hands, but it was like seeing him for the first time. His hands still sure as they explored my skin, but with a careful tenderness that I didn’t think he was capable of. I pushed the flannel off his shoulders, followed by his equally dishevelled t-shirt, and then we were both out of our jeans and I was pulling him onto my narrow bed.

Our hips collided together when he fell on top of me, letting out a surprised grunt against my collarbone before lifting himself up on his elbows and glowering at me. “You’re very eager,” he said, his glare turning into a grin as he quirked an eyebrow.

“Not as eager as you, apparently,” I replied, pointedly looking down.

Harry responded by kissing me, his hips rolling against mine with intended force this time. He shifted his attention to my neck, then my shoulders, pushing aside the strap of my bra and kissing the spot where it had been. He tucked a hand under me, urging me to lift up my torso so he could remove the pale pink material.

After a few more kisses and heavy hands sliding over my skin, the lacy green panties I’d put on this morning simply because they were the only clean pair I had were in a crumpled heap on the floor, along with the rest of my clothing and most of Harry’s. He kneeled on the mattress, hands on his thighs, and met my confused gaze. I sat up and reached out, pushing back his messy hair. Harry grabbed my hand before I could pull away, our rings clinking together as he slipped his fingers between mine. He considered our entwined hands, a crease forming between his brows.

“We shouldn’t,” he said quietly, his voice raspy and thick.

“You say this now?” I replied, blinking at him in disbelief. “Really, Harry?”

Harry’s eyes flicked up to meet mine. “I don’t want to ruin it.”

“Harry,” I sighed, lifting my free hand to his cheek. I ran my thumb over his cheekbone, and Harry leaned into my palm, his breathing slow and calm.

“I need to adjust,” he said, after a moment.

“You? The guy who has more mood swings than a hormonal teenager?”

“This is different,” Harry said. “You’re different.”

“You say that a lot.”

“Well, it’s true.”

I suddenly became very aware of the fact that I wasn’t wearing anything, and heat started to rise on my cheeks, even though Harry had seen me naked several times before. Keeping my hand in his, I leaned over and grabbed the first thing I saw — Harry’s wrinkled flannel. He let my fingers go so that I could pull it on. I buttoned it wrong, one off, but Harry had grabbed my hand again, and I let myself forget about fixing the shirt.

“So, what now?”

“We could, like,” Harry began, a smile slowly spreading over his features. “Cuddle.”

“That sounds so lame,” I said. Harry frowned. “But also really nice.”

“Okay,” he said and then leapt off the bed, quickly pulling on his jeans and t-shirt. “I’ll be right back.”

After he’d slipped out of my room, I climbed under the covers and forced myself not to think too much about what was happening. How a conversation that could’ve ended in Harry leaving and never speaking to me again because I’d basically asked him not to, had somehow turned into choosing to do one of the things Harry had apparently sworn off of. Because this time it really was different.

I squeezed my eyes shut and imagined a light switch connected to my brain, flicking it off and ending the thought path there. Fortunately, Harry came back a few minutes later, peeling off his shirt and his jeans and climbing over me to his usual spot against the wall. He reached an arm around my waist and pulled me in, breathing out a sigh against my hair.

“Communal bathrooms are a terrible idea,” Harry muttered.

“Did someone walk in while you were…”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “Didn’t say anything. Did his business and walked out. Imagine the headlines if he would’ve seen me, though. ‘Harry Styles Seen Wanking in University Dorm Toilets!’”

I laughed, and soon Harry had joined in, his chest reverberating against my cheek as he chuckled. Once the laughter subsided, Harry hummed contentedly and tightened his arms around me. “Do we just lie here?” he asked. “It’s not even nine o’clock. Should we watch a movie?”

“To be honest with you, I could probably fall asleep right now,” I admitted. “This entire day has been completely exhausting. Particularly the last bit.”

“Sorry,” Harry murmured.

“D’you mind if I turn off the light?”

“You were serious about the sleeping thing?”

“Well, yeah. Sort of.”

Harry hummed. “Okay.”

“I’m surprised you aren’t more tired. You look like hell,” I said, slipping out of Harry’s unwilling arms so that I could reach the light switch by the door. He propped himself up on his elbow, watching me.

“You woke me up,” he said.

I turned off the light to hide the warmth that spread over my skin at his words. My laptop was on the floor, halfway under the bed. I picked it up before climbing in next to Harry, sitting up with my back against the headboard. Harry stayed where he was, but the hand that wasn’t holding up his head had drifted over to my leg and was tracing spirals against my thigh. “What movie do you want to watch?”

“I thought you were tired?”

“Oh, I fully intend to fall asleep. But if you aren’t tired, I’m not just gonna make you lie here with nothing to do.”

Harry chuckled. This was definitely the longest he’d gone without frowning, I was certain of it. He shut the laptop, and the room went dark. Then Harry was leaning over my lap and putting the laptop onto the floor. “Go to sleep,” he said, his hand cupping my hip and urging me to lie down.

Still propped up on his elbow, my eyes had adjusted enough to sort of see Harry in the darkness. Once I was lying down, he raised his eyebrows.

“What? I can’t just fall asleep on command,” I snapped.

But the weariness was already creeping up on me, combined with the meditative circles Harry was drawing along my side, made me drift into a semi-conscious state, not quite asleep, but not awake either. After a moment Harry settled in next to me, the pillow sinking above my head as he placed his arm there.

I heard a few slow breaths, and then Harry was asleep. More tired than he’d claimed to be, apparently. His thumb stilled against my side, the arm draped over my torso becoming heavier.

There was a faint knocking. Harry didn’t stir at the sound, but it had spurred me out of whatever half-dreaming state I’d been in. I slid out from under Harry and cracked open the door. Jillian was stood on the other side, hands on her hips and wearing pyjamas.

“You have got to be kidding me,” she said, clearly aware that Harry was inside. “Have you gone completely mental?”

“Jillian,” I sighed, slumping against the doorframe. I ran a hand through my hair. “We didn’t have sex. I think he’s…I think we might actually be together. I don’t know. This been a very confusing evening.”

She pulled me into the hallway, letting the door click shut behind us. Apparently she didn’t care that I was only wearing a haphazardly buttoned shirt. I didn’t even have any underwear on, and I glanced in both directions worriedly, pulling at the material in the hopes of covering more of my thighs.

“He was horrible to you,” Jillian said. “How could you even let him into your room?”

“Didn’t you hear us arguing?” I asked. She had to have at least heard something. The walls weren’t that thick. I’d had to ignore the noises of her and the boy she’d had over earlier having their fun, it seemed impossible that she hadn’t heard Harry and I.

“Bits and pieces,” she said, waving a hand. “But I thought he’d left.”

“He did. Twice, actually. Then he came back. Under very different circumstances,” I replied, still concerned that somebody was going to pop out from somewhere and see me in a state of undress. “Look, can I just go back to bed? We’ll talk about this in the morning.”

She narrowed her eyes at me, then nodded. “You had better have a really good explanation.”

I heaved a sigh, twisting the doorknob. “Yeah, I know.”